


Two Times Round The Block Before I Decided To Stay

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Multi, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Unresolved Sexual Tension, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-26 02:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: Twice, Lord Arum does not ask them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand/gifts).

> Written for a pair of H/C prompts that shorter-than-her-tbr-pile on tumblr sent me: "Please stay with me" and "Will you hold my hand?" <3 The two ideas I had merged into one thing, and it's longer than anticipated so... chapter one for now. Forgive how vaguely tied to the prompts this starting bit seems, lmao.
> 
> Title from the song Back In My Body by Maggie Rogers.

Lord Arum does not ask.

Sir Damien’s body lies beneath his own, as hot and tempting as a volcanic spring, and the life of the knight is the prize Arum has won by his cunning and his skill. It is _his prize_, to do with what he will, and Lord Arum is certainly tempted-

Temptation like too much mead. Like dizziness, like a swooping in his guts (-_makes my stomach growl_-), like a burning heat at the back of his tongue, like an uncertainty that he is fully in control of his hands as they pin the knight to the damp jungle floor.

Arum is _tempted_, and with the knight so hot and bright beneath him (-_close__… to me_-) he feels more akin to a moth than a lizard. Damien breathes sharp and fast, looking up at him, his eyes roving over Arum’s face in a way that makes his scales prickle and his frill flare high. Arum holds him down, growling low, and he can _feel_ the strength of his shoulders, his mere two arms, and Damien is not the only one whose heart is pounding. Arum is perfectly aware that this is the point where he is meant to _stop_ that heart, but for once, his desires, his instincts- they run counter to what he knows he _should_ do.

Because Arum (-_before you kill me_-) is _unsatisfied_. This game, this chase is _thrilling_. Damien is a unique sort of foe, a fascinating specimen of an otherwise unpleasant and dull species. Every time Arum needles or questions or challenges, the knight rises to it, and he is quick-witted and skillful and handsome - for a human, of course, and not that it _matters_ \- and altogether a more entertaining conversationalist than most creatures Arum has ever known, even in the midst of battle, and Arum does not wish for that to _end_. Not yet.

He does not want to kill Sir Damien.

What Arum wants is to play the cat. He wants to let Damien up. He wants the knight to laugh and bandy words and give as good as he gets. He wants another duel. He wants, truly, _many_ more duels. Rematch after rematch, back and forth, lead and follow like a dance, like-

Humans are preoccupied with fairness; perhaps if Arum can keep the scorecard even, if the tallies are matched… this kind of game cannot end if there is a tie, after all.

There is something Arum wants to ask. Something he wishes he could say, as Damien bares flesh for him to mark his victory. Something foolish, something nonsensical. The fresh wound on Damien’s arm says something… similar, at least. It says, _this thing between us is not done_. It says, _you could not forget me if you tried_. It says, _there is something unsettled, there is something you owe and are owed_.

It says... _Arum_ says, _come back to me, honeysuckle, and finish what we started_.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time, it is not a matter of choice.

His Keep (his home, his counterpart, his progenitor) is _dying_, and he will hold the human here for as long as it takes for her to heal it. Letting her go is not an option, not by any stretch of the imagination, and none of this is a _request_. He frames it as a barter; information for a service, but he thinks they both know that this is as simple as a monster stealing away a human. It is simply what is expected of him (he stifles the memory of the way Damien suddenly _meant_ his hatred again, when he thought Arum had taken a human he cared about).

Of course, the problems arise when he realizes that her company is… not unpleasant.

She laughs as bright and wild as a monster, she looks at him with neither fear nor revulsion, she _understands_ when he expounds upon his work, understands _enough_, even, to disagree with his methodology or his theories in clever, insightful ways (though- of _course_ she is incorrect when she questions him… of _course_).

She sings like birdsong. She plays like a bard. Her dark hair shines like a river in the moonlight. She is a healer, a grower, an inventor, a performer, a negotiator.

She is a kaleidoscope of nuance and Arum wants to keep turning her and turning her, wants to see every color and shape, wants her to stay-

He _wants_ her to stay. Which is substantially different from keeping her out of necessity, to protect himself. It is different. The principle of the thing- it is not the same, when he is keeping her here and it is because he desires her. No- desires her _company_.

It is especially different when she looks at him… when she really _looks_, and something in her eyes makes Arum think that, perhaps, she might _want_ to stay, just the littlest bit.

She won’t, of course.

He learns that lesson quite well. Instead of bolting the moment she has the chance, when he bids her farewell she turns back _towards_ him and his foolish, ridiculous heart leaps in his ribcage when she puts his name on her tongue (the informality of her: she refuses to call him ‘Lord’ except in derision, and even that is enticing, challenging-), but then she rubs his nose in reality.

She would never have stayed. Not because she wanted to. If he asked, he would only be making a mockery of himself.

She cares about her humans; of course she does. Arum cares only for himself, his swamp, his Keep.

Instead of asking her to stay, he shoves her out the door, and slams it behind her, and he tries not to listen when she calls out for him, calls him a coward.

He tries not to listen. Her voice rings through his mind, defiant as she ever is.

She leaves, both too soon and not soon enough. The Keep remains in slumber. The swamp itself seems to quiet its low din in commiseration or respect. And Arum… Arum is _weak_. Arum wishes, stupidly. Arum is filled with foolish human _regret_.

“Please,” he hisses, only once she is already gone. He wishes his plea was formless, but it is impossible to pretend. There is no one left but himself to pretend for, and Arum does not think himself worth the effort of a lie, just now.

“_Please_,” he whispers again, low as rustling leaves. There is more to the plea, but he bites it down. He buries it. He pushes it away, until it is as far from him as Amaryllis herself.


	3. Chapter 3

In the swamp, when all is finished, when the fear monster has been cast off of the world, when Damien has already kissed him and he has lifted Amaryllis into his arms so she will not continue to put weight on her broken ankle, when they have sung their song together and faded back to measured silence as they walk, Arum realizes quite belatedly that he has _already_ asked the question he has been clamping his jaws down on and swallowing for weeks now. Or- he asked without asking, really. During the duel, he had essentially snarled it at the knight in his panic, without thinking, more a challenge than a plea. _Step towards them__, and find out_.

(_stay stay stay honeysuckle, stay with me, stay with us-)_

And Damien _did_.

Arum feels almost giddy with it. He is only just beginning to shake his resignation, to shake the despair that has been crawling through his veins since the moment he pushed Amaryllis out of his home. He is _alive_. They are all alive, with no dire injuries, all three together and calm at last, and Arum’s foolhardy affection for these fragile creatures- his affection is _returned_. The universe has never before been so generous to him. That Amaryllis and Damien care for him, that they already care for each other-

The entire affair feels dreamlike, and judging by the slightly dazed way Damien intermittently glances at him, and the way Amaryllis squeezes his shoulder every few minutes as if checking to make sure Arum is real, that feeling of unreality is as mutual as the affection.

Arum imagines that when they arrive at his secondary outpost (an old structure, something between a cabin and a tent grown with thick interwoven vines that his predecessor created for meetings with other monsters she did not trust within the Keep), there will not be much actual discussion. Not today, at least. He imagines that there will not be much else besides treatment of their wounds and then immediate collapse into sleep. The humans look almost as tired as Arum himself feels, and all of them will be better served to talk through what this will mean for them after they are properly rested. Perhaps Arum will even be allowed to hold them as they all recuperate from this near-apocalyptic day. His free hands twitch in greedy anticipation at the thought, and he glances at Damien again.

Damien, however, is not looking back this time. His brow furrows and his eyes are on the ground before his feet, though his mind is clearly elsewhere. Arum tastes tension on the air again, as if the fear and discomfort Arum chased off in their duel have slithered their way back, pulling Damien’s focus away, unsettling the footing beneath his decision to stay with them.

Arum’s hands twitch again, nerves and desire. _Stay with us, honeysuckle_, he thinks, and no one can hear if he sounds desperate in the privacy of his own head. He wants to claw Damien’s attention back, wants to snarl away the worries that claim him, wants-

“This hardly seems equitable,” Arum drawls, brandishing the words as casually as he is able, glossing over the nervous way his stomach jumps when Damien’s eyes flick towards him in surprise. “I may be carrying Amaryllis, but you need not stand so far aside, Sir Damien. I have four entire arms, in case this has somehow escaped your notice.”

Damien looks at him, tilting his head curiously. Though Arum has startled him from his worry, it is obvious that Damien doesn’t understand the current of Arum’s thoughts. Even Amaryllis raises an eyebrow at him from her position in his arms.

They have both been… indescribably brave, Arum thinks. He can manage a little courage in return.

Arum reaches out, into the empty air between himself and the knight. “Will you… will you come here, honeysuckle, and take my hand?”

Damien stares at him, his lips parting softly, his eyes bright and surprised. Arum almost pulls his hand back in embarrassment, but before he can lose his nerve entirely Damien steps closer.

Soft, warm fingers tangle between his claws, snug and easy as if they were meant to fit that way, and with Amaryllis in his arms and Damien beside him, both smiling up at him now, Arum’s own fear and self-consciousness melt like wax in the sun. Which is a pleasant side effect, considering that he merely wanted to draw Damien back in, not comfort himself.

Damien squeezes his hand, and Amaryllis lets her cheek drop to rest against his shoulder, and Arum did not know it was possible to feel this warm.

Perhaps, Arum thinks, the benefits of asking for what he desires can outweigh the risks. Perhaps so, even if only when it comes to his beautiful blooms.


End file.
